


Rightist Infighting

by Yuki1014o



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Identity, Kinda, Relationship Study, get wrecked nazi fuck you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29915094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: “Hmm...” Ancap closes his laptop, gets up, and stretches just a little. He probably won’t get more work in, now. “I forget!”Nazi stills. Blinks once, twice. “What?”“I,” Ancap says, very slowly, feeling just a little amused, “forgot my ethnicity.”///The rightists aren'tquiteas unified as they like to appear.
Relationships: Anarcho-Capitalist & White Identarian | Nazi (Centricide)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Rightist Infighting

Ancap is currently working at the kitchen table. It’s a small thing, more of a low marble-topped counter if anything, but it’s good enough. The leftists are out, meaning he can work here without being distracted by the Bolshevik or prodded by Ancom. And for his economic axis mate—

Ancap cocks his head, listens closely. Yep. There he is. Nazi’s boots sound quietly down the stairs. He shows up in the kitchen looking well-dressed as ever—combed hair, even nails, clothes pressed down and orderly. It’s an interesting look for someone that’s stayed in his room until seven PM, but Ancap expects nothing less from a politician.

A number changes on Ancap’s screen. He looks back to the pages. So many things to do, not enough time to do them. What’s the beta score? Libertarian emailed him a new index. Hmm—

“Are you wasting time chasing profit again instead of doing something _useful?_ ”

Ancap peers around and raises his brows. Contemplates his next action. Direct him elsewhere? No. Nazi is looking for someone to argue with and Ancap is the only one available. The point doesn’t even make any sense. Retort, then? “ _You_ are accusing _me_ of doing nothing useful?”

“Unlike you, I’m not exactly a fucking multi-billionaire,” Nazi says, “ _You_ could be using that wealth to fight degeneracy.”

Ancap sighs quietly in his mind. Nazi is talking like a commie. Typical authoritarian. They all want to steal his money. “And you could be doing anything useful at all, but you don’t see me complaining about it, do you?”

Nazi’s face does something strange. Pinches up. His nose wrinkles. “Ugh you’re acting like a minority.”

“Billionaires are a minority,” Ancap confirms, feeling the barest bit amused.

“No I mean you’re acting annoying,” Nazi huffs, leaning his back against one of the kitchen counters. He pauses. Looks at Ancap for a long moment. Thins his lips. “Actually, come to think of it, what _is_ your race?”

Ah. They’re doing _this_. Ancap is not in a particular mood for this. _Identity politics_. Rand, it’s almost the worst form of politics.

“Nordic..?” Nazi eyes him critically, shakes his head. “No. French, maybe? Italian? God you’re certainly _lazy_ enough for it.”

Ancap lets the insult roll off easily. He’s been called worse. He ponders his response. Ignore him? No. Nazi is an authoritarian—unable to take no as an answer. Lie? No fun in that. Be truthful? Sure.

“Hmm...” Ancap closes his laptop, gets up, and stretches just a little. He probably won’t get more work in, now. “I forget!”

Nazi stills. Blinks once, twice. “What?”

“I,” Ancap says, very slowly, feeling just a little amused, “forgot my ethnicity.”

“You’re kidding,” Nazi says. “You’re joking me. It isn’t funny.”

Ancap opens the cabinet. Gets out premium coffee beans and fishes the expensive chocolate truffles from where he hid them in the back. Sets them onto the marble counter and yawns a little. “Some people have better things to do than track their blood.”

Nazi’s finger twitches. Ooo, got on his nerves, hmm? Funny. “But it’s your _ethnicity_.”

Ancap bites into a truffle. Takes liberal time in replying. “So? It’s been something like three hundred years since my conception. I’m bound to forget in that span of time.”

“Then take a DNA test!”

He shrugs. “Have _you_ taken a DNA test?”

“... _No_ , but I also didn’t just fucking _forget_ the single most important definition of my existence.”

Ancap starts on making coffee. “Please, ethnic identity is only useful when making an appeal to marketing demographics. To you I’m white, to the Ancom I’m Irish—it’s all money, in the end.”

“Oh my dead god,” Nazi mutters, voice sounding strained and on edge, “I _hate_ this about you.”

Ancap just smiles. “My unwillingness to assign special value to unspecial things?”

Nazi glares. “Your unwillingness to hold a basic moral position.”

Funny coming from him. (Then again, it comes from the leftists, too.) Ancap tucks the criticism safety into a forever unopened box of things to address later, in private, when he feels like it. “Bleh, and your stance on morality is that it’s a useless, constraining construct not to be followed unless living in an all-white society.”

“ _No_ ,” Nazi says, “it’s more complicated than that. True, certainty there are certain principals that are extremely constraining in a--nevermind, at least I don't sell and degrade culture!”

“ _Oh no_ ,” Ancap says, voice pitching higher, “selling culture! You sound like the Ancom.”

The fascist twitches, full body. Starts on a motion with his arms before bringing them back to his sides, fists clenched. Oh, Ancap’s made him _angry_. How rare. “You sell away my culture like it holds the triviality of dirt, you trade it away like—like one of your shiny online _tokens_.”

“Shiny online tokens?” Ancap asks, and suddenly wants to laugh. “By Rand, do you mean _crypt_ _o?_ And every day I think you can’t get more outdated!”

“You—” Nazi looks about like he’s going to implode. “Fuck you.”

“Oo,” Ancap says, “finally dropped the politician pleasantries? I’m honored!”

“Someday I am going to _make_ you respect me,” Nazi hisses.

 _Statists._ They’re all the same, in the end. Ancap likes making fun of Ancom just as much as the next guy, but at least _they_ are an anarchist. They’re oversensitive, sure, but there exists no person more of a snowflake than a statist. It’s such a childish mentality— _someone is doing something I don’t like, so I’ll MAKE them stop!_

“Oh?” Ancap asks. “I thought you were all for respecting one’s elders? I’m centuries your senior, you know.”

“You _know_ that isn’t what I mean.” Nazi’s fists haven’t relaxed. “Someday you’re going to be helping me—”

“I’m already helping you all I want,” Ancap says, “I defend your free speech. Don’t pretend anyone needs more than that. If your ideas are good, you’ll succeed all on your own. If you’ve failed its your own fault.”

 _Honestly_. Nazi’s ideas have failed in the free market of thought—and who is Ancap to argue against the free market?

“Someday—”

Ancap sighs. “You statists are all the same. You all want power and control and to take my money.”

Nazi’s lips thin. His fists relax, tense, relax. Trying to calm himself down? “If you hate me so badly then why do you associate?”

Ancap smiles just a little. Skips over to Nazi, presses himself now to him. The other physically cringes away and Ancap profiles every movement and tucks it away to analyze later. (Is it the fact that it’s _Ancap_ , or is he just touch adverse?) Ancap wraps his arm around Nazi’s back and clasps his shoulder.

“Nazi...” Ancap lifts his glasses, just a little, smiles, “ _I_ don’t associate with _you_ , _you_ associate with _me_. You’re my dear consumer. I'm your best choice!”

Nazi peels Ancap’s hand off his shoulder with cold, iron fingers. Ancap easily lets the grip break. “Someday I am going to _kill_ you and your stupid fucking _globalist_ agenda—”

The door opens in the other room. Creaks. Shoes on the floor, laughs from the doorway, _anarkitty, tankie—_

the leftists are back.

Both rightists freeze. Ancap takes an abrupt step away. Nazi makes a visible effort to smooth over his expression. Any conflict is carefully tucked away beneath the sound of leftist laughing. The communists come into the kitchen as a pair, still looking at each other, so close that they’re unmistakable as anything but a couple.

Nazi’s hands do one final clench.

 _It’s their own perfectly consensual relationship that’s absolutely none of your business_ , Ancap almost wants to remind the other rightist. There is a time and place for that. It is not right now. Instead, Ancap smiles wide, erases any last remnants of tension from the scene, and pretends to be a united front.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was weirdly refreshing! Fun. The conversation popped in my head around a month ago and I just /had/ to write it out. I hope you enjoyed reading this!
> 
> Per usual, constructive criticism is welcome and comments always make me happy! ^^


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